


Altered Desires

by vetech95



Series: Concepts [2]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alter Ego talks now, Blood and Injury, Brief mention of Belail, Nightmares, POV Second Person, You are the OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26276938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vetech95/pseuds/vetech95
Summary: Fall into the mirror. See what you find
Series: Concepts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908931
Kudos: 2





	1. A Backstory

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Those who are deceived are fools](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21005684) by [bookofthenightsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookofthenightsky/pseuds/bookofthenightsky). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fall into the mirror. See what you find

Belial snaps his fingers, and a mirror appears in front of you. Only it doesn't show your reflection. Well, it does, but it's wrong. You step closer. Her hair is white, and her eyes are red. Your usual clothes and scorch-marked apron replaced with dark armor over a tattered black dress on her. The maniacal look in not-you eyes grows sharper with one, two steps. You lightly touch the mirror, and it ripples. You snatch your hand back.

"Isn't that interesting?" Belial sounds closer than he should, "I have to say, I didn't expect you to last this long." Did he follow your steps?

The wonder creeps unbidden into your voice. "What is this?"

"This," the reflection looks behind you, at Belial, "is what you've become. The power of the primarch weapons has been using your body as a host. With my scythe, they've coalesced into a vortex of chaos."

She sharply smiles, then reaches a hand out. The fingertips breach the mirror.

"Well?"

You place your hand in hers.

Red string wraps around your wrist and she pulls you in.

* * *

You were named Grace once.

* * *

The storm outside prevents the window from lighting the room, but you've been here long enough to know it by heart. There's a door across the room, there's a bed, that's what you're sitting against, there's a plate you just finished clearing, then there's the chain at your ankle, keeping the door and the window out of reach. Maybe if you were bigger, or older, or stronger, you'd be able to get out! You could drag this bed over there, and climb it, and look out the window, see what's out there!

You want to go outside! But you can't, because you're sick, and you'll hurt yourself, like before, when you tried to leave the house. Your parents were so worried, but you've stopped caring about that. Does that make you a bad daughter?

There's voices on the other side of the door. Your parents, plus one more. You scooch to the wall, and press your ear against it.

"Of course! Now, the extra room is upstairs, if you'll follow me?"

"What's behind this door?"

"Oh, that's our daughter. She's too sickly for visitors at the moment."

"Ah." Steps away from your door. "Perhaps I can meet her later, when she's feeling better."

"Perhaps. Now," the stairs creak, and the voices fade.

The storm continues into the night, and you wake up to a hand on your shoulder. A stranger shushes you, then starts messing with the thing that keeps the chain attached to your ankle. Is this the visitor? You can't see what they're doing, even as a candle flickers on the floor on the other side of them. Him? They sounded like a boy earlier.

The thing falls open with a clink. You kick it away, and quickly get out of bed. You run to the door, almost falling once, and look out. No parents in sight! You run to the outside door, unlatch it, and dart outside as thunder rolls. Freedom! You feel the rain! Finally! You jump in a puddle! The splash reaches your knees!

You hear yelling from the house. You start running again.

* * *

The little girl keeps running, despite her legs aching and the repeated beatings her knees, palms, shins, and arms are taking.

She keeps running.

The wind picks up, aiding her in her escape.

She sees the edge of the island, and tries to stop, but the ground is too slick and the wind is too strong, and she goes over.

* * *

Hurt.

Everything hurts.

Is this why your parents never let you out?

Why is it hard to breathe?

The arm you landed on is bent in a way that hurts, it all hurts, why does it hurt?

You just wanted outside, you didn't want this.

You feel sleepy. You close your eyes.

You hear flapping before you fall asleep.

* * *

You wake up in a soft bed, with more things attached to you.

"Sh, dear you're okay." Is that the doctor? She's a nice lady. She never liked your parents.

There's yelling somewhere. The tubes attached to you are filled with dark red stuff, like you get once a month.

A door slams, and you finally open your eyes. It was the doctor talking! Someone else stomps in, the doctor's wife! She's nice too, but not as nice as the doctor.

"Is everything settled?"

"As 'settled' as it can be considering. I can't believe they thought it was okay to lock her up like that! No wonder she wasn't getting any better-"

"Kaz!" You both jump. That's the first time you've heard the doctor raise her voice. The doctor turns back to you. "How are you feeling?"

"O-okay." You heard flapping, were you dreaming? "How did I get here?"

The doctor's wife smiles, showing a bunch of teeth as she rolls her shoulders _those are wings **that's so cool!**_

"Are you the one who saved me?"

Kaz bows, wings still out. "Kafziel, at your service." Kafziel? But Kaz is easier.

"Can I call you Kaz?"

She laughs, standing behind the doctor now. "If you want. This is Angel."

"Dear, she already knows-" 

You shake your head. "No I didn't."

"Oh."

You fiddle with the edge of the blanket.

"Hey, you wanna know what's in those bags Angel's always bringing you?"

The red stuff you're hooked up to? You nod.

"That's my blood."

"Does this mean I’m going to grow wings?"

Kaz shakes her head. "No, it's not enough to change who you are."

* * *

The days pass in a blur. You're still bed ridden, but now you have people to talk to! You aren't locked up in a room! The visitor came by, he was nice enough, but a troublemaker. You're pretty sure he stole something, besides what Kaz caught. You've met everyone in the village now, and it has so many people! You haven't seen your parents yet, and you miss them sometimes, but Angel says they're not allowed to see you until you're better, and that could take some time.

The days turn into weeks. You're walking around now, though you still has to sit through the transfusions in the mornings.

The weeks turn into months. Your parents don't answer your questions, so you give up on asking. You still get the transfusions, though it's once a week now.

The months turn into a year. You haven't grown much since the day you were rescued. Your blood is darker than it used to be.

Another year. You call Angel 'Mama' now.

Years pass, and your growth slows. You look eight when you're ten. You look fourteen when you're eighteen. You look twenty when you're twenty-six.

You stop aging around thirty, and to this day you still look like you're in your mid-twenties.

You took up weapon-smithing early on. You quickly learn the craft, and are eager to improve. It takes decades before you hear of Jean, and you set out to learn from them, having surpassed your previous masters.

This is where you meet your final master, a simple man. He takes you under his wing, and teaches you what he knows.

Of course, he is not what he seems to be. Who is, that you consider important?

* * *

"How long have you been alive?"

He jumps, turning to you briefly before going back to the forge. "What gave me away?"

You shrug, examining the guard you're detailing. "You act old." You shimmy your shoulders, "and the way you talk about the War." It reminds you of Mama and Kaz.

He doesn't answer your question.

You've just finished cleaning up when he calls you over. He's shirtless, which is unusual.

"Do you see this mark?" He points at what looks like an engraving on his shoulder. It's a knot, like the kind he brands his work with.

"Yeah, I've seen it before. It's for your guild, right?"

"Have a seat."

And he explains the Mark, and what it means for him.

"My body cannot decay, and my mind cannot dull."

Those are the words that repeat in your head. It's a curse, but it doesn't sound different then what you're experiencing, to be honest. You're already, what, seventy?

He's still talking, about how much he misses his family, when you ask your question.

"How do you pass it on?"

He smiles, something sad.

"My apprentice must surpass me."

You nod. You can do that. Not easily, but you've figured out how to imbue the metal itself with its purpose, and customers have been able to tell the difference, according to them.

* * *

It takes you thirteen tries to succeed.

You hand the finished blade to Jean. It's an executioner's sword, made to grant peace and mercy in death. He holds it, and starts tearing up.

He dies in, fifty years, you think. The Mark would sit heavier, if you weren't already used to people dying before you're ready for them to. You go back home, to Mama and Kaz, who welcome you back with open arms.

* * *

It's astonishing, how quickly centuries can pass.

You continue your craft, selling your wares and taking requests. You've figured out how to give metal a personality, which makes surpassing you difficult. You've had a couple of apprentices, and they've both opened their own shops, but neither of them could learn how, as best you tried to show them. 

* * *

You're surrounded by bodies. Bodies you know. Gran. Djeeta. Kaz. Mama. Vryn. Lyria. Katalina. Rackam. Eustance. Rosetta.

You hurt everywhere. Are you reliving old injuries? You nearly collapse into the growing puddle of red. **Blood**. You're on your knees. Your chest is open. Your arm is broken. There's gashes all over you. You fall forward. You barely catch yourself on your unbroken arm. You stare at your reflection. What little blood you have drains from your face. You've lost all color, hair a silvery white. Except your eyes. You can't tell the difference between them and the pool you're kneeling in.

The red starts crawling up your fingers, quickly taking over your hand. It crawls up your arm.

"Beau!"

It passes your elbow.

"Beau, wake up!"

It makes its way to the gaping hole in your chest. You can see some of your ribs in your reflection.

"Beau!!"

You wake up to someone shaking you. It's Lyria. You quickly hug her.

"Beau?" Her voice trembles. "I think you had a nightmare."

"I was." You let her go, rubbing her arms. "Thank you for waking me up."

She nods, still trembling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't make sense yet, but trust me. There's a reason I named that story as inspiration.


	2. Desperate Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sharp want ran you through when you saw what Avatar could do. Problem is, it wasn't yours.

Ripping through black cloth surrounding you. Desperation. Searching for something. Chaos. Searching for chaos. For more chaos. The kind that brings primals to their knees.

Except one.

We need it! Need to take it! Take it from him!

How?

More ripping. More desperation. More losing patience.

Until-

Ruins. Dusty.

There he is!

There's someone else here too.

Red strings reach out. Bring you closer. He doesn't look up.

The other one did.

Dark gauntlets dig into the fabric of his flesh. Ripping into it.

He's screaming.

Digging further. Further.

His core-

Red string connects it to you. Penetrating. Claws digging into the both of you.

He's still screaming.

Digging further.

The other one's just watching, does he not care?

It burns. Like hot metal.

Should he?

Pain. Wrath. Despair.

Yes. This is his creation.

Walls prevent you from digging further.

Perhaps he doesn't take the same pride in his work you do.

Red strings wrap around the hot bits. Wrap around your fingers. Wrap around your throat.

Then why make it at all?

Picking out the power.

Taking it in.

What can we do with this? We're not a primal.

Which is why it won't over take us. We have no core to corrupt.

More picking. More taking.

Then how can we use it?

There's no more.

Die again. Find out.

You can't breath.

* * *

You jolt awake. You sit up, gently moving your legs over the edge of the bed. Even with advanced healing, the soreness of battle still needs at least one night to heal. You scrub a hand over your face. Well. That was. Ominous, to say the least. You stand up, ignoring the soreness. You're not going back to sleep after that, so you better do something with your time. You change into some working clothes before leaving your room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY I COULDN'T LEAVE HIM LIKE THAT

**Author's Note:**

> It doesn't make sense yet, but trust me. There's a reason I named that story as inspiration.


End file.
